


Protego Horribilis

by fatecanberewritten



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, F/F, F/M, Female Character of Color, Harry Potter alternate ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-25
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-09-26 19:48:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9919514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fatecanberewritten/pseuds/fatecanberewritten
Summary: "Individuals start wars. They don't end them."





	1. Chapter 1

        What was left of the house was nothing but a shell, so fragile that even the slightest breeze may cause it to crumble. It was a horrifically sad thing to see, even for someone who has already seen countless unspeakable horrors, someone who has already been through a war. All was silent there at Godric's Hollow on that tauntingly beautiful night - all but the muffled wails of an infant.

        For a while, even the cries of the child did not stir the man who stood outside the Potters' Cottage. He was much too in shock, as he imagined all his world would be in the morning when they heard the news. He stood for far too long in bitter consternation, pondering what this all could possibly mean.

        It was the light of a neighbor's window that finally spurred his movement. With the silent wave of his wand, the man cast a Muggle-Repelling Charm, and began his hesitant walk into the broken and damaged house, for a reason he still did not understand. He pushed past the halfway-opened gate, and with an intense feeling of unease, took the final steps up to the door, which stood wide open. His breath was shaky, and he felt it, each inhale hitting the bottom of his lungs with a chill that spread throughout his veins like ice, each exhale emptying his entire chest as if the air was poison, ending with his breath made visible by the illuminated tip of his wand.

        He tried his best to step around the glass, but the task was utterly impossible, broken windows and picture frames scattering the carpet, the moving photographs sprawled out around the room, depicting the family in a state so opposite if this one, that it was almost bitterly laughable. The man thought for a moment of cleaning the mess with a wave of his wand, but he knew only one thing for a fact: no one could know he was here.

         The stairs were not much better than the living room, and it wasn't until he had reached the top that he knew that it was much, much worse. The child had ceased its screaming, and for a moment, the man was immersed in an unbearable silence, something catching in his throat as he looked down at the body. "I'm sorry, Potter," he whispered after a moment, looking bravely into a pair of lifeless eyes, hidden behind an old pair of black, round glasses - even in death. "It was never meant to end this way."

        Cries filled the eerie atmosphere once again, much louder, now that he was closer to the source. The man took one more daring look at the lifeless form, lying limp on the ground, before he briefly closed his eyes, and stepped over the body. Walking with caution, he ventured towards the end of the hallway, to the only room with light, the only room with sound.

        Just outside of the room the man knew he had to enter, he thought once again why he forced himself to do this, thinking, for a moment, that he should just turn back now. But he wouldn't. He had made a promise.

        He glanced once more back to the man he had once hated so passionately, a man who had been his opposite in almost every aspect, and yet a man that did not deserve this. He turned back, and pushed open the nursery door.

        The mobile of different owls still swung slightly, reminding him just how quickly he had arrived. A lamp, the only thing providing light to the dark house, was fallen to the ground, like everything seemed to be, flickering with each step the man took. The floor was similar to that of the rest of the house, broken children's toys and glass littering the faded white carpet, the material stained with blood. The source was a woman, who lay just as dead as her husband, her fiery red hair splayed out across the floor. It pained him to see her like this - a woman who had been so brave, so lively in life - now silenced in death.

        The child, though no more than a year old, stared at her mother, bitter tears streaming down her cheeks, as if she possibly could have known the weight of the situation in that moment.  She didn't realize that she had lost everything. She only knew that her mother would not get up.

      With a sunken heart, the man stepped towards the child's crib, finally bringing her attention away from her mother. She ceaselessly cried as she looked up into an unfamiliar face, but she put up no fight at all as he reached into her crib, and brought her into his arms.

        "It's alright," he whispered to the child, holding her tightly to his chest. "You're safe now."

        But as Draco Malfoy stood there with the orphaned daughter of the chosen one, he wasn't sure if his words were true.

        They disappeared.


	2. Chapter 2

        A young boy sat with his back flat against a rough brick wall, eyes gently shut, mind wandering. The only sounds to be heard were those of the London rain, and the echoing, hauntingly beautiful music of a piano. He was alone - a boy no older than eleven, alone on the streets of London, hiding out in a dark alley behind a small recital hall - but for the first time in his life, he was not afraid. He was more at peace than he ever had been before.

        Too quickly, the last note of the last song was played, and a distant applause replaced it. His moment of peace interrupted, the young boy opened his eyes to an ordinary sight, skewed by the raindrops on his rounded glasses. He knew it was late - much later than he was allowed to be out, but he felt no urgency. He knew that no one would be looking for him; the city orphanage he called home was grossly under staffed, with too many orphaned children to keep track of.

        But it wasn't just himself that he was worried about. The city orphanage was historically normal, but in recent years, a historically  _ ab _ normal event has caused the institution to fill with an array of particularly abnormal children. This lonesome boy was one of the oldest, so he watched after this strange bunch, and he knew that as the light of the midnight moon burned brighter, little Amira Rowle would need all the help she could get. It was best if he got home.

        So he stood, but just as he was about to turn out of the small alley, the creak of a door and a torrent of rushed voices caused him to turn back. A small group of people crowded around the now opened door that he sat beside just moments before. All looked very distracted, very business-like, except for one - a dark-skinned woman in an almost glowing, pale pink gown. For a moment, the young boy stood still, entranced by the magic that hung around this woman, the bickering of her counterparts fading into deadweight, background noise.  _ Surely _ , he thought,  _ she is like me.  _ He wasn't sure if he would ever find out.

        She turned to the end of the alley with purpose, though she had no clue what that purpose was. Her eyes found him, that young, lonely boy with the round glasses, and her eyebrows creased together in confusion. "What is it?" spoke the woman beside her, tearing her gaze away from the end of the alley.

        "There's a - " she turned back to where she last saw the boy, but found nothing in the spot where he stood. She turned back to her agent with a forced smile. "Nothing."

        Blocks away, the boy was finally able to refocus. He needed to get home, soon; he knew that if he didn't, Lorena and Isaac would not be able to fall asleep. The two were twins, orphaned before they could even remember their mother's face, and they had latched onto the boy the moment they arrived. Thinking of them only made him feel more guilty for escaping. He quickened his pace.

        When he reached the orphanage, he knew better than to enter through the main door; Madam Santini would throw a fit, seeing him getting home this late, so the fire escape was his best option. His room wasn't too far up, only the third floor, but his horrid fear of heights had his palms sweating as he carefully climbed, making sure not to look down. Clamoring onto the third floor fire escape, he was surprised to find his room's light shining brightly, even more surprised to find a young, tan boy excitedly bouncing on his toes in the middle of the room.

        "Elijah?" the boy said in a hushed tone. "What are you - ?"

        "We're getting adopted, Ivor!"

        Ivor watched Elijah's enlivened face, a feeling of hope arising, then quickly and hauntingly fleeting. Ivor shook his head. "No, we're not." He watched guiltily as the grin on the young boy's face fell to a hurt frown, but there was nothing he could do about it. No one would adopt them - no one would take on their impossible abilities by choice.

        Just then, however, the door burst open, and Ivor first saw how lively this floor,  _ their  _ floor, seemed to be, though it was nearly midnight. "Ivor, where have you been?" said the girl. Her name was Elizabeth, and she was one of the older strange children, someone who knew when to take charge. He was about to answer, when she cut him off. "Never mind. Are you packed? We really should get going."

        "What are you talking about?"

        "We're getting adopted," she answered him, causing Elijah to give him an  _ I-told-you-so  _ look.

        He looked at the girl with complete confused astonishment. "All of us?" he questioned. "All twelve?"

        With an odd smile, she nodded. "It's a bit strange, but," she paused, "so are we."

        She had a gleam in her eye as she sauntered out of the room, her plait swaying with the confidence of her step, but this was a confidence that did not seep over to Ivor. There was something odd about this, something off-putting, and as he watched Elijah follow after her into the fray of the hallway, he wanted to pull him back, feeling as though, if he passed through the threshold, Ivor would never see him again.

        He was left alone in his room, the bustle of the floor seeming to flow away with Elizabeth and Elijah, leaving Ivor in a desolate solitude. With a shake of his head, and a rushing, unsettling feeling in his chest, Ivor shakily took out his trunk, and began packing away the few things he owned. Mere moments later, he was taking a deep breath and leaving the one and only place he has ever known as home.

        Ivor ventured down the narrow stairs slowly, cautiously, following the excited voice of the children he grew up with, but as he took the last step into the crowded foyer of the orphanage, the voices silenced, and all eyes found him. They were all there - all of them. Elizabeth was telling the truth; they were all getting adopted on that strange summer night.

        "And here is the last one," came a voice from the other side of the room. It was the distinct voice of Madame Santini, but there was something odd, something too airy about it that Ivor picked up so very quickly. Madame Santini was not in her right mind, he could tell, especially when the thin woman walked over to him daintily, something that has never before happened. "Ivor Selwyn, ma'am."

        Ivor, who had been cautiously watching Madame Santini, had not realized that there was a fourteenth person in the room - a woman; though she looked no older than twenty. She had dark, wildly curly hair that framed a distinct face with light green eyes and a dark smirk across her lips. Whoever she was, she had no business adopting twelve kids - no one did, especially when those twelve kids were as odd as they were.

        "Mr. Selwyn," she said in a smooth, chilling voice, pushing off the wall she had been leaning against. "Couldn't leave without you, could we?" the woman stood in front of him now, and as the children behind her smiled and looked at her as if she was an angel sent from heaven to give them a real home, Ivor looked at her as any intimidated yet protective person would, as if she did not faze him at all, though his hands, like they had been when he was climbing, were sweaty. Without breaking eye contact, the woman spoke again: "You may leave, Muggle."

        He didn't understand - hadn't she just welcomed him? And why was she calling him 'Muggle'? Before he could make a move, however, Madame Santini had scampered out of the room, and he understood that the woman hadn't been talking to him at all.

        Still watching Ivor closely, the woman broke the hanging silence. "You children deserve better than to live in an institution that is run by such filth," she said hauntingly calmly. She looked around at them all, and with a small smile, she held out her hand in front of her and said simply, "Come, we will get you to a place where you will be embraced and celebrated for your abilities. You will have to hide no longer."

        Elijah was the first to grab onto the woman's hand, followed by the badly scarred Amira Rowle. Elizabeth, tightly holding onto her brother’s hand, was watching Ivor as she hesitantly joined the others, being one of the last to do so. But she was not the last; Ivor was.

        The woman who held their future in her hands once again looked over to the bespectacled boy, an eyebrow raised. For the first time, he was able to work up the courage to speak to her. "I can't let us go with a woman we don't know."

        "Ivor - " started Elizabeth, but she was cut off by the woman's hand.

        "I understand your concern," she answered. "But my name is not important. All you need to know is that I, like you, am unusual. All thirteen of us have magical abilities, and Ivor, you must be with your people. You can't pretend to be like them anymore."

        He swallowed and shifted on his feet, his voice becoming louder, more desperate. "I'm not going anywhere until I know your name."

        As he looked out across the familiar faces, he felt guilty once again. They all wanted to leave, but none of them wanted to leave him.

        "Joan," the woman finally answered. "You can call me Joan."

        But as Ivor reached for her hand, as everyone had, he was not looking at Joan. He was looking at Elizabeth, each of them knowing that nothing would ever be the same again.

        They disappeared. 


End file.
